


Hope

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Glimpses of the Heart [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Come as Lube, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, New Relationship, POV John Watson, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: After finally admitting their feeling for one another, John and Sherlock are in a relationship. They've been taking things slowly, but tonight Sherlock has other plans...





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kabes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabes/gifts).



> For my sweet Kabes, who asked for wall sex to celebrate my 100 followers on Twitter.
> 
> Follow me @savvyblunders (Twitter, Tumblr, Pillowfort & newtumbl)

It wasn't  _ planned _ , the first time it happened. 

 

They'd spent ages shyly passing one another in the hall in the late nights and early mornings, eyes meeting and then glancing away. Oddly formal in asking one another for space on the sofa, in the kitchen, in cabs, where before they hadn't bothered. Weeks of chaste film nights bleeding into warm kisses on the sofa. Sprawling half-supine on the old cushions, bones melting like candle wax as the always-steady flame that had burned between them for nearly a decade flared brighter. It flared as brightly as the inevitable candle at “their” table at Angelo's, where they traded wry, tender looks. Both of them were pleased with the new status they’d achieved, but at the same time there was a weight of history behind everything they did, and at times it felt like they were playacting a part.

 

But it was sweet, the lingering. The easy, slow glide into a relationship. For once John wasn't trying to rush a relationship into bed and on its way out the door. Sherlock wasn't avoiding “sentiment” and seeking solitude. Together they were finally ready for more. For all of it. 

 

Only…not too soon.  _ Savour the courtship _ , John reminded himself. No need to frighten Sherlock off with anything too…physical. Not that Sherlock was easily frightened, but then again, he'd never been in a relationship before either. And of course there was this too: John had never been in a relationship with a man. Not before Sherlock, who had always made all manner of things possible for John. 

 

      ******

 

As made sense for them, for the consulting detective and his blogger, it happened following a case. A nice solid seven, puzzling and intriguing but solved in less than twenty four hours. John was almost refreshed after a brief nap in the cab on the way home, and he followed Sherlock's lean form up the inside stairs, eyes on his arse and mind on the leftover curry waiting for him in the fridge. Well, and more than a bit on Sherlock’s arse, truth be told. John had high hopes that after they’d eaten and unwound he could coax Sherlock back onto his lap for more of the lazy, exploratory kisses he was fast becoming addicted to.

 

“That was one for the blog, eh?” John asked, coming to a stop behind Sherlock as he extracted his keys. His tone was bright, joking. “For once I was right. It  _ was _ twins.” He smirked expectantly at the back of Sherlock’s wild curls.

 

Abandoning the keys in the lock, door still latched, Sherlock turned around, eyes gleaming in the dim upper hall. “You were brilliant, John.” His voice sounded velvety in the half-dark, and John’s libido--never far away--perked up. Oh, but Sherlock’s voice held such promise of sensual delights when he spoke like that.

 

“Was I? Ta.” John grinned at him, chuffed. And a little turned on. But then, when wasn’t he more than a little turned on by his madman?

 

“It was positively amazing the way you had that sussed out,” Sherlock continued, standing too close, his brilliant eyes scanning John's face keenly. 

 

“Steady on,” John laughed, smiling affectionately at him. “I wasn't  _ that _ \--” 

 

“Genius,” Sherlock breathed, looming over him, hands grasping the open placket of John's leather coat. 

 

“Are you taking the piss?” John asked suspiciously. 

 

“I'm trying to compliment you,” Sherlock said, sounding less breathy and awed and more annoyed--and annoying. John found a surprising amount of comfort in the fact that as much as things had changed, others had remained the same for them.

 

“Okay,” John said slowly, turning ideas over in his mind. Predicting Sherlock, however, was a tricky business. “Why?”

 

“I wanted you in an amenable mood for  _ this _ ,” and so saying, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and ducked his head to capture his lips in a fierce, sizzling kiss. It was considerably hotter--and more skilled--than his usual efforts, and John actually felt the tiniest bit fuzzy for a second. He clutched onto Sherlock, who obligingly turned them and pressed John's body between his and the door. 

 

“Christ,” John gasped, tipping his head back with a thunk as Sherlock began nibbling his way down his neck, “Have you been watching YouTube again?”

 

“I…may have done some research,” Sherlock murmured, grazing John's throat with his lips, “Problem?”

 

“Not from where I'm standing,” John told him, running his hands under Sherlock's Belstaff and seeking the firm heat of his sleek waist beneath the fine cotton-silk blend of one of his tailored shirts. “C'mere you.” God, he wanted him closer. Wanted him so close he lost track of where he left off and Sherlock began...

 

Sherlock moaned happily in his mouth as John slid greedy hands around his hips and took eager handfuls of his arse. “Oh John…”

 

“Gorgeous,” John praised softly, slanting his head and taking Sherlock's suddenly slack mouth in a deep kiss. Guiding him closer, he brought their groins together and with one gentle, inexorable hand urged Sherlock to fall into rhythm with his hips. 

 

John's name fell as softly as summer rain from Sherlock's parted lips, and his eyes were hooded as he gazed down at John.  _ Beautiful _ , John thought.  _ Mine _ . Suddenly his desire to wait, to take things slow, not to rush either of them into a physical relationship melted in the face of the stronger desire to wreck Sherlock with passion. To mark Sherlock as his, to be claimed at last by Sherlock Holmes.  _ I belong to him _ , John realized dizzily. Why had he ever fought it? 

 

Not only John's self-control seemed eroded; Sherlock rolled his hips with sinuous urgency against John's. The heavenly galaxy that was his eyes was clouded with passion and he seemed unable to quiet his gasping breaths. “John,” he groaned again, fingers tightening on John's hips, “Good God, John,  _ please _ don't stop now.” 

 

“Never,” John growled, straining up just slightly on his toes to bring Sherlock's flung back face into reach. He put one steady hand on the back of Sherlock's head, guided his mouth down and claimed a rough kiss. “Couldn't stop if I wanted. Not ever…this is it. You and me. Understand?” His eyes burned fiercely into Sherlock's. “You're it for me, for good. For always.”

 

“Always, John,” Sherlock agreed hoarsely, “It's  _ always _ been you.” They both groaned deep in their chests as their mouth tangled fiercely. “I want to-to feel you,” Sherlock said almost frantically, hands reaching for John’s buttons. 

 

It as a bad idea. A reckless, dangerous idea. They were in a hallway for God's sake. Late as it was, Mrs Hudson could still come out any minute. John didn't give a tuppenny damn; he'd waited long enough for this. Without a tremor, his hands worked open Sherlock's belt, his flies, even as Sherlock fumbled to open John to his rapacious gaze, his hungry hands. Inevitably they got in one another’s way, laughing in groaning confusion and frustration as they sought contact. It would have been far more sensible for them to have stopped and tended to themselves...but neither of them had ever been particularly sensible. 

 

At last they were both free and their straining flesh was exposed to the slightly-cool air. John couldn't restrain the happy sigh he gave when Sherlock's large hand at last wrapped around him, working him free of the restraints of cloth. He hissed out a pleased breath, his own hand automatically circling Sherlock's erection. It didn't even feel odd, he realized in wonder; it was the most natural damn thing in the world.

 

“Oh God,” Sherlock groaned, head dropping to press his forehead against John's, “Oh God, John…!”

 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” John rasped, the endearment passing naturally from his thoughts to his lips, “Christ, feel how hard I am for you?”

 

A stutter seemed to tangle Sherlock's response in his mouth, and for once the man gave up on words and just existed in sensation. John planted his feet to keep them balanced and dared to encircle them both in his hand. Ah  _ Christ _ , that was good. Amazing, actually. Really bloody amazing and  _ why _ had they waited this long?

 

As their eager cocks nuzzled and slid sickly along one another, Sherlock turned his head into the cay of John's shoulder and panted. John murmured encouragement and praise, hardly aware of what he said, shivering at the hot wash of Sherlock's breath on his neck. Sherlock’s hands were gripping his back tightly, fisting urgently in the cloth of his shirt, and occasionally whimpers of pure need escaped. John stroked and caressed and told Sherlock in a low whisper how brilliant he was, how beautiful, how  _ perfect _ .

 

John's name a choked out mumble, Sherlock held him tighter, body tensing. Incredibly, John felt Sherlock's approaching orgasm in his cock and didn't stop to think twice. He brought his other hand from where it had been riding Sherlock's perfect arse and cupped Sherlock's balls instead. He was rewarded by a low keening, before Sherlock turned his head and bit down on John's neck. 

 

“Fuck,” John gasped explosively, as Sherlock spilled into his hand, hot ejaculate costing John's hand and his cock. His low moaning sobs filled John's ears and ramped up his arousal. All the suppressed need from the past seven weeks was bubbling fiercely out of control. “Bite me harder,” he instructed hoarsely, and his hand--liberally lubricated with Sherlock's come--fairly flew over his dick. The thin foreskin slid rapidly back and forth over the sensitive crown and as Sherlock sucked what was most assuredly going to be a massive hickey into his neck, John came with a stifled shout. 

 

The hallway rang with the echo of his exclamation and John melted back against the wall, grateful for Sherlock's limp weight pinning him in place. Otherwise he might have slid to the floor, he acknowledged with a smug grin, aware of his quivering thighs, his suddenly liquid knees. They both might have ended up on the floor if not for the other man; Sherlock seemed scarcely able to move, capable only of repeating John’s name and holding him with arms which trembled in their eagerness.

 

John could barely bring himself to care that Mrs Hudson might have heard. That she might even then be coming to investigate. At that point the Queen herself could have appeared, and John would have just clung to his boyfriend, sexually wrung out and blissfully in love. Pressing a loving kiss to his boyfriend’s curls, John closed his eyes briefly and gave thanks for the fate that had brought them together.

 

******

 

A few hours--one naughty shower, two containers of curry, and a fiesty round two later--John relaxed in Sherlock's admittedly much more comfortable and spacious bed. He lounged against Sherlock's chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart under his ear. John smiled to himself as Sherlock responded to some Tweets because, well, he was Sherlock. John didn't expect him to be a completely different person now that they had achieved orgasm together. Besides, Sherlock had positively wallowed in afterglow once John had sucked him off after their shared shower. In fact, he’d clung like a limpet to John, who felt about ten feet tall and bullet-proof.

 

“What's amusing?” Sherlock inquired, putting down his phone and wrapping that arm back around John. 

 

With the other one it made a nice pair, John reflected with sleepy satisfaction. “Just thinking…earlier you suggested that you were using compliments to get me in the mood for sex.”

 

“I did not suggest it,” Sherlock disagreed. 

 

“You  _ implied _ it.”

 

“Your point being?”

 

John sat up on one elbow and grinned at him, “My point being that you find it erotic being complimented on your brilliance.” He grinned fondly at him, “Vain dickhead that you are. No wonder you show off in front of people so much.” He dropped his voice to a sexy growl, wiggled his eyebrows comically, “It gets you  _ hot _ .”

 

“Nonsense, John,” Sherlock huffed, dropped back onto his pillow, supremely bored. “I do not derive sexual titillation from people pointing out my genius.” he actually sniffed disdainfully, sounding far more like Mycroft at his snootiest than he would have been happy to know, and John couldn’t restrain his grin.

 

“Oh no?” John ran a delicate fingertip down Sherlock’s sternum, enjoying the ripple of gooseflesh and the tightening of Sherlock’s nipples to such mild stimulation. Christ, things were going to get explosive in bed for them. “Guess I was wrong then…”

 

Sherlock rolled his head on his pillow, meeting John's eyes, half embarrassed and half mischievous. “I don’t enjoy praise from idiots, John.” He swallowed, pupils dilating, “I derive sexual titillation from _ you _ pointing out my brilliance.”

 

“Ha! I knew it!” John grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the mattress, swinging a leg over Sherlock's waist, “God, it's a wonder you weren't arrested for indecent behavior in the first few weeks we met, if an erection is your automatic response to me telling you you're amazing.” He grinned madly down at him, feeling happiness well up like a geyser threatening to overwhelm everything else.

 

Sherlock smirked, eyes glowing like a supernova. “Why else do you think I “swan around” in my coat as you once so poetically put it? It's excellent at hiding inconveniently timed erections.” He stared at the ceiling, said musingly, “ Can't think why they don't use that in the adverts…” His expression softened as he switched his gaze to John's face, and one hand came up to cup John's jaw with rough gentleness. “I'm afraid I'm rather hopeless when it comes to you, John Watson.”

  
“Nothing between us is hopeless, Sherlock,” John vowed softly, lowering his head to kiss Sherlock with gentle promise. “Not anymore.” And that was it, he thought, settling in on top of the man he loved,  _ hope _ . The one thing he'd been without ten years ago, the missing element that had made life so grim and pointless. Hope was once more his; just like Sherlock. The man who had given it back to him was safe in his arms, where he belonged. 


End file.
